


Sky High: Sophomore Year

by theredhoodie



Series: Sky High Years [1]
Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Gen, High School, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Unofficial Sequel, slow burn ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: What happened after Royal Pain was jailed and things at Sky High fell back into normalcy? Follow your favorite superheroed kids as they go through their high school experiences, from messy relationships, to new classes, to new villainous foes.When the school goes on a school trip and ends up being attacked by an unknown villain, the school is put on high alert and Will and Co. take it upon themselves to help track down the enemy and save the school. Again.





	1. Layla

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for about 10 years so I decided to just go for it. This will be a series of 3 novel-length fics taking place in the last three years of Will/Layla/etc's high school experience. I'm trying to keep it as IC and realistic as possible. It'll be funny and angsty and ridiculous and dark all rolled up into one.
> 
> Warren/Layla is gonna be the slowest slow burn you've ever had to read so I apologize ahead of time.
> 
> I'll add tags as I go along, it's too confusing trying to add them all at once!
> 
> Edited by my boyfriend, so any mistakes, take up your complaints with him. hahaha.

_ **PART ONE: SUMMER** _

Chapter 1: LAYLA

 

The party was a part-end-of-summer and part-Layla’s-birthday thing. This year, Layla wanted a pool party. The Stronghold’s had the nicest pool in the neighborhood and her boyfriend’s parents were more than happy to offer their home as “party central”. It wasn’t some crazy high school party, it was just Layla and the kids from school; all superpowered, knowing where not to snoop.

Will and Layla’s parents were only there to cook the food on the grill—burgers for everyone but Layla who got a veggie patty on organic wheat bread—and then leave them alone unless there was an emergency. The pool was the ideal temperature, the grass was freshly mowed, the sun was hung high in the sky. Everything _would_ have been perfect if not for the cloud of darkness that settled around the birthday girl’s shoulders.

“Hey, Hippie,” Warren Peace got her attention, sitting down beside her at the shallow end, dipping his feet into the refreshing water as well.

Layla shook her head, bringing herself back to the present and glanced over at him. “Hi,” she said softly. She wasn’t really sure if Warren was more Will’s friend than hers, and she never stopped wondering if Warren was even her friend to begin with. Whenever it came to the hothead, things were indefinitely complicated.

Warren settled his hands in his lap, his fingers wrapped around a can of soda. “And what’re you doing all the way over here?” His eyes were pointedly staring at the rest of her friends, who were currently involved in an intense, no-powers game of cornhole.

Layla swished her feet through the water. “Just…thinking,” she said, frowning.

“Are you gonna make me ask you what you’re thinking about?” Warren sounded annoyed. Layla glanced over at him and saw that he didn’t _look_ annoyed. He had the small tug of amusement written across his face.

Layla leaned back, her palms scraping against the slightly coarse stone around the pool. “Where’s Cecil?” she asked, changing the subject. She really did not want to talk to Warren Peace about her relationship with his presumed best friend, Will Stronghold.

Warren tilted his head to the side. “Who?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Warren!” she gasped, appalled.

He cracked a grin, flashing straight white teeth at her in a way in which she was sure would make most girls swoon. For her, it was just like seeing the good, human side of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Angry. “Kidding. She’s over there,” he motioned toward the porch.

Walking out of the sliding glass door came Cecil Lancaster; tall, thin and perfectly blonde. Oh, and also Warren’s girlfriend with ice powers. Layla shifted slightly at the sight of Cecil. She was a year older than Layla, and had a temper as icy as Warren’s was fiery, but she had always been nice to Layla. On any other day, at any other time, Layla would have instantly gotten up and joined the group, telling Cecil she looked amazing with her tan and white—Layla couldn’t even imagine wearing a white bikini of all things, especially not in front of her _parents_ —bikini and perfectly manicured nails. However, Layla was having doubts about a lot of things in her life, all of them settling down on her shoulders at once, and some involved Layla’s insecurity in her own skin.

Layla knew she was standardly pretty and that she was overreacting. She had never cared what other people thought of her, at least not in any superficial ways. But now, she felt too short, her hips too wide, her chest too small, and she was sure she could feel acne just dying to spring forth and ruin her entire day. Today, she felt jealous of pretty much everyone, even Ethan, who was always nervous and made everyone around him nervous with him.

Cecil was almost immediately grabbed by the elbow by Larry—Layla hadn’t invited him, Will probably did, not that she minded, he was a little sleazy but she knew that was just hormones doing their thing—and dragged over to the drink cooler, which had already melted to a soupy mess. Cecil put out her hand and instantly frosted everything over without a second thought before walking down the remaining steps. She spotted Warren and Layla and waved at them both, motioning for them to come over.

“That’s my cue,” Warren said. Layla hadn’t even realized they’d fallen into a minute-long silence until he spoke. He pulled his feet out of the pool and offered her down a calloused hand. “You’re gonna have to party it up sometime.”

With a sigh—mostly because she knew he was right even though the last thing she wanted to do right now was slap on a smile and pretend she felt _okay_ —she let him help her up and brushed off palms against her thighs. She had slathered on sunblock and purposely worn a one-piece suit with crisscross straps in the back and she felt utterly childish. She had luckily had a shawl with a flowery pattern to wrap around her waist to at least give her some shape. She knew she was thinking too much about it—Will had said she looked great when she showed up earlier that morning and Warren hadn’t commented on her looking like a six year old—but it was just one of those days when the “happy flower child” just wasn’t happy.

However, Layla does force a smile, edged on by Zach slipping on the grass and getting stains along his neon swim trunks. Zach is so white he nearly glows all on his own under the sun. In comparison, Magenta is in her usual black, with a suit covering more than Layla’s even, her hair held back in a number of purple and black clips and pins. Ethan is on the other team with Will, scrawny still but inches taller than when they all gathered in the gym for Power Placement, nearly drowning in his too-long orange shorts.

As they walked over, Warren dipped behind Layla to catch Cecil by the hand and Layla kept walking, her eyes on Will. He’d also changed a lot since the first day of high school a year ago. He was a bit taller, he’d cut his hair short and his muscles were no longer just super; you could actually see some definition if you looked hard enough. Layla’s wide smile fell to a toothless one as she watched Will lob the last sack and it slid into the hole with ease.

Magenta rolled her eyes and walked off to get a soda as Ethan high fived Will. Larry swiped one of the bags from the grass and tossed it in the air.

“Another round?” Larry asked as Will came over to Layla and slipped his arm around her. Cecil pulled Warren to the other side of the plywood stands and into the shade. Zach hovered at the bottom of the steps, waiting for Magenta to pluck a coke from the frosty cooler. 

Ethan groaned and Warren chuckled at his disparity. “I thought this was a _pool_ party,” he mentioned.

The pool lay behind them, basically untouched. Then again, everyone had just arrived. Layla had invited a few other people from her class—Sally the girl who could transform into a ball, Meredith who could make someone pass out with a whistle, and even Harrison, who could walk through walls, but only if they were made entirely of concrete—but they had declined, mostly because of their own family parties and holidays. Layla didn’t mind. She wasn’t very big on huge friend groups anyway.

Taking it as a challenge, Will grinned and twisted around, tossing himself into the air just high enough to be hidden by the pines and then dove into the pool, sending a near tsunami over everyone in the yard. Layla sputtered, having been the closest to the edge. Her hair, which Magenta had braided like a crown and laced flowers through, was soaked and some of the flowers were now lying on the ground.

Will shot up at the surface of the water, shaking his head like a dog as Magenta rushed to Layla’s side, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the stairs, but not without glaring at Will behind them.

“What?” Will said loudly, slapping his arms down against the water. Shrugging, he swam to the shallow end and pulled himself out.

Layla shivered as she stepped on the stairs and Magenta pushed her down onto a wicker chair to try to salvage her hair. “You _still_ haven’t talked to him have you?” Magenta asked, her voice a whisper.

Layla glanced over at the yard. Will was walking around the edge of the pool. Warren left Cecil in the hands of a two-on-two of cornhole with the boys and clapped Will on the shoulder. Layla didn’t know what he said to Will, but Will frowned, glanced up at Layla and then shrugged.

Layla sighed. “No.”

“You’re gonna have to,” Magenta said, repositioning some bobby pins. 

“I will. Tonight.”

“That’s one way to ruin your birthday.”

Zach whooped in the background.

“My birthday hasn’t been that great so far.”

“I’d like to hear you say that after you see what I got you,” Magenta took a step back. There was still a pile of yellow dandelions—not the most beautiful flowers, but bright and numerous—on the glass tabletop. She grabbed some to replace the drowned ones. “Done.”

Layla lifted her hands to her hair and felt around. “Thanks, M,” she said, giving the first genuine smile of the day.

Just as she stood, the sliding door flew open and Mr. Stronghold walked outside, a pile of meat on a plate in his hand. “Who’s hungry?!”

All the boys yelled back a response. 

“Good, because these burgers take twenty minutes,” Mr. Stronghold chuckled.

Layla’s mom, Andrea Williams, brought out a pitcher of lemonade and Mrs. Stronghold brought out a platter of vegetables. Everyone _had_ to assume that the munchies at Layla Williams’ birthday party would be healthy. None complained as they crowded the table, dipping celery and carrots and broccoli and cucumbers in the big bowl of ranch in the middle. Everyone was chattering like birds and Layla didn’t feel so hard pressed to _make_ herself feel happy. She bumped elbows and hips and all other body parts with everyone else as they tried to dig in all at once.

Layla felt her mom’s hand gently rest on her shoulder before walking inside. Layla’s dad, Jasper, wandered outside and hung around the grill, probably remembering the time before Andrea when he ate meat and didn’t live in a house overrun with pets and plants. Layla smiled over at her dad; he was only human, but he knew about superpowers because it was a hard thing to contain. He didn’t know that the Stronghold parents were world known superheroes, but he did assume that Will had powers since he went to school with Layla.

Zach was the first to pour a drink and was therefore stuck playing server, handing out paper cups to everyone until the pitcher was empty. They all dispersed to the shade then, the grass wet and smelling of chlorine. They sat near the farthest trees away from the pool, sprawled out on the grass. Layla sat next to Will, who hooked his elbows around his knees, making it impossible for the two of them to bump shoulders or really much of anything. Layla methodically sipped her lemonade as Warren got comfortable with his head in Cecil’s lap, Magenta leaned against Zach like he was a chair and Ethan and Larry just sort of sprawled out on their backs near the edge of the sun line, letting the warmth soak in.

“It’s so weird to think that we’re not gonna be freshman anymore,” Will said, not bothering to mention that Warren and Cecil were already exceptions, being a year ahead of the rest of them.

“Thank god,” Ethan muttered.

“No Power Placement,” Magenta said, ticking off on her fingers.

“No Lash and Speed,” Zach added.

“Or Penny,” Cecil interjected. “God I hated her.”

No one said it, but of course they all thought it: _no more Gwen Grayson_.

“We’re not gonna be like them, are we?” Layla asked quietly. “Like, we’re not gonna be mean to the new kids.”

“Of course not,” Will said, astounded she would say such a thing. Layla knew first hand how much of a jerk Will could be. Especially since his ego inflated along with his new found powers. 

“I make no promises,” Warren rumbled, his voice still octaves deeper than any of the other boys in their circle. Everything about him screamed that he was older than them, had a harder life than them, dealt with things they couldn’t even dream of. It hadn’t been that hard to crack through that surface for Layla, and Warren had slowly warmed up to the mismatched group of Hero Supporters who saved the world from Royal Pain.

“That’s my guy,” Cecil said, trailing a finger around Warren’s collarbone, leaving an icy path that melted almost too fast to see.

Layla shoved her face into her cup and downed the rest of the sour and sweet mixture in one gulp. It burned her throat and she coughed, scrambling to her feet. “I’ll go get more,” she said, hurrying toward the porch.

The air was thick with the smell of beef, which she wrinkled her nose at.

“Everything okay, sweat pea?” her dad asked as she scurried toward the door.

“Just getting more drinks!” Layla said, even though there was a cooler full of soda and water bottles on the porch. Once inside the coolness of the Stronghold home, Layla allowed herself a moment to breathe. She stepped into the downstairs bathroom and flicked on the light. Her skin was starting to get red, so she grabbed the sunscreen on the counter and rubbed some more onto her face and shoulders. Her hair didn’t look as bad as it had felt after Will’s cannonball. With a little power, she perked up her flowers before walking out into the kitchen.

Josie and Andrea were leaning against the island, gossiping most likely. They both turned when the birthday girl walked in.

“Everyone okay?” Andrea asked. Layla looked a lot like her mother. They both had the same shaped face, distinctly rosy cheeks when they smiled, and the same short stature with luscious hair, though Andrea’s was chestnut brown. She got her pale skin and red hair from her father.

“Yeah, totally,” Layla said breathlessly. She lifted her hands, expecting to see a pitcher in them, but she’d left it on the table outside. “I was coming in for more lemonade.”

Josie and Andrea exchanged a glance, speaking in some sort of silent mom-speak, and ushered around her. “You take out the buns and plates and I’ll get more drinks,” Josie told her, giving her a huge bag of burger buns and a sizable stack of paper plates.

The first thought in Layla’s mind was, _At least they’re not non-biodegradable plastic_ , before she gathered everything in her arms.

“I’ll nuke your patty and be right out,” her mom said behind her as she and Josie started toward the porch again.

Layla took a huge breath before stepping out into the heat again. Everyone was still in a heap in the shade and she had to shake her head at them. They hadn’t even _done_ anything and they were already wiped out. That or they were feeding off of her bad vibes. She straightened her shoulders and brought the buns and plates to the table.

“Thank you, Layla,” Mr. Stronghold said, giving her a smile. “Perfect timing.”

Josie disappeared inside to get more lemonade. Layla took a swig out of Magenta’s forgotten Coke and crunched down on a celery stick, hovering by the table. She was waiting for Will to notice her absence, but he was oblivious.

Jasper came over and gave his daughter a tight side hug and a kiss on the head, careful of her flower crown. “Happy birthday, string bean.”

Layla inexplicably felt her eyes well up with tears and she hugged him back. “Thanks, dad,” she said, sniffing and letting go of him as the Commander let loose a bellow about food. Her friends came to life on the grass and fought with elbows in line as Layla handed out plates and buns. It happened in such a rush that no one thought to give her a break since it was her birthday.

Instead, halfway through, when Andrea brought out a veggie patty on a plate, she swapped places with Layla. Layla put mustard on her burger and grabbed handfuls of the bite sized raw veggies. She flopped down on the low steps next to Magenta, grinning and nudging the shorter girl’s shoulder. Everyone took up the stairs like they were bleachers, the smell of meat and smoke heavy in the air. The dads went inside to give them their _teenage space_ and Josie popped out just a moment later with more lemonade.

Once the food was wholly devoured, Layla felt better. She felt, for instance, that she wasn’t just pretending to be enjoying herself. She and Magenta and Cecil crowded the right side of the stairs and the boys were on the left. Layla couldn’t have told you what she and the other girls talked about, but by the end, she had laughed enough for her sides to hurt. It was a blissful half hour where she didn’t even think about Will, sitting on the far end of the stairs.

With all of the food eaten and the lemonade pitcher empty again, they picked up their trash, with Layla directing people to put their plates in the recycling pile rather than the trash. Feeling more like herself, Layla turned to her friends: they were bright and laughing and alive and she found that she had no reason to be upset. Not today. Today was beautiful. The sun was high, the trees, grass and flowers sang to her, and there was just enough breeze to take off the heat. 

Cecil walked over to the pool and crouched down next to it. She dipped a finger into the smooth surface and created a layer of ice. “Now we can really get the party started,” she said with a smirk, standing and dusting off her hands.

“You’re not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after eating,” Ethan said, as Will and Warren exchanged a glance and dragged him toward the edge of the pool.

Layla felt a momentary pang of pity for him, but joined the others in wild laughter as Ethan was tossed in. The ice was so thin it didn’t put up much of a fight and he splashed through and came up sputtering. Everyone soon followed, slipping in the shallow end or jumping into the deep end. Even Magenta shrugged and dove in, getting her hair wet. 

The mandatory splash fights commenced between those on the shallow and deep ends. Halfway through, Larry crawled out and tossed in a bunch of pool floats that were stacked by the shed in the corner. Pool noodles, a tiny inner tube that Layla recognized from her and Will’s shared childhood, and one long lounge seat that Magenta claimed immediately, wedging herself in the corner of the deep end.

Layla pounced on the inner tube, holding it under her chest so she didn’t have to keep kicking to stay afloat. She caught Will’s eye a few feet away and grinned. She could be serious later. Right now, she just wanted to have fun. She didn’t want to dive under water and mess up her hair, and was about to call out a new game when Larry beat her to it: “Chicken fight!”

He looked ready to burst into rock form and Will hurriedly yelled at him. “Larry! You’ll break the pool!”

Larry grumbled, too short to partake, but the others jumped on board. Literally. Magenta even got off of her luxury seat to climb onto Zach’s shoulders. Cecil on Warren’s, and Layla put aside her unfriendly feelings and got onto Will’s. Ethan and Larry sat on the stairs on the shallow end, meek cheerleaders for the avid fight. Someone yelled “no powers!” as they started, mostly directly at Cecil, who had a habit of using her powers haphazardly and when she wasn’t supposed to.

The first one down was the ice queen herself, after Magenta played dirty and whacked her with a pool noodle. She and Warren swam to the stairs to watch the remaining two. Layla and Magenta locked hands and Layla couldn’t help but let out a musical laugh.

“C’mon, my grandmother can fight better than you!” Larry yelled.

Layla shoved Magenta back, Zach stumbling. They went at it a bit more until Layla found herself wide eyed and slipping backward, landing back first in the water, drenching her hair and losing half of her flowers. Magenta rolled her eyes as Zach paraded her around like a queen before letting her down. She shapeshifted and he easily picked her up off his shoulder and placed her on the edge of the pool to transform again.

Breathless and smelling of chlorine, Layla bobbed up to the stairs and stood at the base of them. “Presents?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Everyone nodded and yammered and grabbed towels from the pile on top of the lawn chair near the shed. They dried their hair, squeezed out their suits and the girls wrapped themselves up as the chill spread across their bodies. Layla walked up the stairs and poked her head inside. “Mom? Can you bring the presents out?” Andrea called something back and everyone crowded around the table and the porch, basking in the sun as the few bags and boxes were brought out. 

“Can we stay outside for this?” her dad asked to which Layla laughed and nodded. They stood off to the side as Layla surveyed the table. Cecil and Will had taken the other seats, Zach was leaning on the cooler, Magenta perched on his knee and the others were standing, waiting.

“I’m not used to having an audience,” Layla said sheepishly, grabbing the first bag. It was small and blue with paper sticking out of the top. There was a tag on the strap: _To Layla, from Cecil_. She looked up at Warren’s girlfriend and gave her a smile. She pulled the paper out and then felt inside. Whatever was in it was softer than anything she’d ever felt in her life. She pulled out the present and shook it out. It was a light green cashmere sweater. It was far too hot to think about wearing it now, but it was so soft that Layla was almost speechless. “Wow, Cecil, thank you so much.”

Cecil waved a perfectly manicured hand in front of her. “It was nothing.”

Layla put the sweater back in the bag and set it down. The next gift was a deck of cards with drawings of flowers on them from Larry—quite the thoughtful gift from someone she only sort of knew. Ethan got her a brightly illustrated science pamphlet and CD about the biological elements of plants worldwide. A bracelet made of twine and shells from Zach—“Maj picked it out”—and consequently, a necklace with a charm of a tiny bottle with a fake flower inside from Magenta. Warren got her an old book, a second edition of _The Great Gatsby_ that smelled like he’d brought an entire old bookstore with it. And Will? He got her a pair of earrings that she felt guilty even holding. She gave him a kiss on the cheek in front of their parents and then thanked everyone again.

As the party dwindled down, people got changed into their regular outfits and started to leave. First Ethan, then Larry. Magenta got a ride with Cecil and Zach walked the three blocks home. Warren stayed the latest, helping clean up the pool and the food. He eventually left after giving Layla a bright smile and dipping out of the front door. As long as she’d known him, she had no idea where he lived or how he got around. He wasn’t yet old enough to get a license— though she assumed he would get one soon soon—and she’d never met his mother.

Once he was gone, that left just Will and Layla. Will went upstairs to shower off the chlorine and Layla used the master bathroom to do the same. She unbraided her hair careful to pull out all of the pins before she showered quickly. Once out, she pulled on her sundress and threw her hair up in a messy, wet bun on the top of her head. The sun was still in the sky, but the backyard was no longer filled with sunlight. She lingered in the bathroom as long as she possibly could before heading downstairs. Her parents had left while she was showering, taking her presents with them.

“Everything okay?” Josie asked as Layla’s eyes strained toward the door. With her parents here, Layla at least had a small buffer.

She forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Is Will upstairs?”

Josie nodded, before putting her hands into the sink to wash the few dishes left from the party. Layla quickly filled a glass of water from the fridge and walked upstairs. She had been in Will’s room a million times as a kid and even a few times since they started dating. It was weird, the shift that happened once they were suddenly _together_. Both sets of their parents were more conscious of late night visits or spending time in bedrooms with the door closed. Her face flushed at the thought as she walked up the stairs she knew as well as her own.

Will’s room was to the right at the top of the stairs. The door was half open. She knocked before pushing it open. He was just pulling on a red shirt, his hair wet, droplets still clinging to his face. 

“Hey,” he said. A weight bench took up most of the floor space, with enough weights on either end to make the bar bend.

“Hi,” she said, sweeping in and sitting on his desk chair. She held the water in her hands. “Thank you for the earrings.”

For his birthday, she had gotten him a practical gift: not a video game, or some new weights, but a cactus. She wanted to see if he could keep it alive. She selfishly realized it was sort of a test, to see how long the cactus could live. She felt like it was connected to the state of their relationship, something that she was sure went over Will’s head at the time. The cactus was still clinging to life on the windowsill.

“Yeah. I mean, they’re no cactus,” he swung his hand toward the plant and plopped down on his bed. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Magenta’s nagging voice came back to her. She _had_ to tell him before school started. But she was still feeling light and airy and happy from the pool. It could wait, or so she told herself. “Yeah,” she said, standing with him to trail down to the living room. It was still bright, so Will closed the curtains and crouched in front of the TV stand.

“So, what’re you feeling like?” he asked, opening up the door that revealed a pile of DVDs.

“Something happy,” she said. 

Will sighed. “Not a romcom.” It was a beg, a plea. He had never hated watching them when they were friends, but since they got together he had strictly been on a no romcom diet.

“No,” Layla replied quickly. “Something animated?”

He nodded, making the choice as she sat on the couch and put her glass on the table next to it. Will put in a classic fairy tale, a retelling with a smattering of humor and numerous musical numbers, and sat on the couch next to her. She let him lean against her, relaxed and settled. She felt bad about all of it, but the movie was a good distraction. She’d seen the movie a hundred times as a kid, but that made it all the better. She repeated every line in her head along with the characters, laughed at the appropriate places and finished her drink long before the movie was over.

Once the credits rolled and the music dimmed, Will got up and stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes. The closed curtains made it cozy in here and Layla wouldn’t have minded just staying here for a while. She knew that she was just putting off the inevitable, but no one could blame her for wanting to do so, could they?

She got up too, stretching her arms and giving Will a small smile. 

“I’ll walk you home,” he said to which she nodded. He took the DVD out and she opened the curtains. After finding her shoes and saying goodbye to the Strongholds, the two walked out of the front door and headed down the street. 

Dusk was heavy in the air, but the earth was still radiating warmth from the sun all around them. Layla wished she had grabbed Zach’s bracelet or Magenta’s necklace before her parents left. She really could use something to busy her hands with right about now. 

“You have a good day?” Will asked, keeping his hands in his shorts pockets.

Layla tilted her head to the side, her eyes taking in the lawns and trees and flowers in the yards ahead of them. “Yeah, it was good,” she said, more to convince herself than to assure him. 

“You sure?” he pressed.

“Will,” she sighed. She crossed her arms, thankful that they were no longer slimy from the sunscreen.

He pressed his lips together into a thin line as they rounded the corner. Her house wasn’t that far away, she could see the mailbox, painted green. “You seemed off all day.”

“You mean Warren told you that I seemed off all day.” Layla said it before thinking, because it was the truth. That must have been what Warren told Will after the cannonball, before the food was brought out. 

“Yeah, well…” Will tossed his hands out to his sides a little. He followed her across the street. Her pace was fast. She was thankful she wore flat sandals today and not wedges.

“So what is it?” he asked, his voice coming from over her shoulder. 

Layla took a deep breath and stopped at the small white fence that sectioned off her yard. It held back a jungle of plants. She wrung her hands together as she turned to face him. “Will,” she said, keeping her voice soft. She reached out and took his hand. He let her. “I feel like…I feel like we should try being friends again.”

That was not the way she had planned this conversation in her head. Then again, she’d been procrastinating this almost all summer, she hadn’t actually come up with the full script. She squeezed his hand before dropping it.

“What?” he asked, the gears slowly working in his head.

“I…” She hugged her arms around herself. “I think we should take a break.”

“A break.”

“Yes.”

Will thought about it and she really wished he wasn’t _such_ a slow teenage boy, but that was exactly what he was. She had waited this long, she could wait for him to catch up. “Are you saying we should break up?”

She let out a huge breath. “Maybe. I think so.” She bit down on her bottom lip. 

“Why?”

It was almost worst that he wasn’t getting angry with her. 

Could she really put into words what she’d been feeling since the end of the school year? That maybe her affection toward Will was misplaced, puppy love, something that was easily gotten over but that she clung to because it was familiar? She still cared about him, but she didn’t get excited when he kissed her anymore. They would go days without seeing each other, only sending a few texts, and it didn’t even bother her? 

"I just think we would be better as friends right now,” she settled on. It wasn’t exactly right, but it wasn’t exactly wrong either.

“Really?” He was hurt. And not in a loud and abrasive way, in a quiet way that made her heart break a little.

She nodded, unable to say anything else.

He thought about it, looked everywhere but at her and then finally at her. “You can keep the earrings.”

“What?”

“Your present. You can keep them.” He forced a smile. “It is your birthday after all.”

She let her arms fall to her sides. “I’m sorry, Will.” She really meant it. She wanted to hug him but he was already backing up.

“I’ll see you at school,” he said before jogging across the street in the dying light.

Layla stood there until he disappeared around the corner. She then slipped through the picket fence, walked inside, and passed the kitchen where her parents were.

“Everything okay?” Andrea asked. Was it a parent thing to ask that the moment someone walked into the room? It felt like she’d been hearing it all day.

“I’m just going upstairs,” Layla said, surprised to hear her voice wobble slightly. She rushed up the stairs to her room, closing the door and losing herself in the comfort of the room. There were plants on every surface and even vines growing up the wall and across the ceiling, helped by little hooks placed sporadically.

She pulled off her shoes and got onto bed, staring at the pile of presents her parents left her on the desk. She’d already opened her family’s gifts that morning: gardening tools from her dad, a new curling iron from her mom. She pulled her legs up to her chest, resting back against the mountain of pillows stacked by her headboard. She let herself cry a little, a few tears slipping down her face, but that was all. She’d been waiting to break up with Will for months, and it was hard but it was also a relief. 

Even though it was early, she lay down and pulled a pillow to her chest. Maybe if she just lay there for a while everything would start to make sense again. Maybe.


	2. Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to update every Saturday, so keep an eye out! I'm already ahead with writing the chapters so maybe I'll post twice a week on occasion :)

Chapter 2: WILL

 

Warren had warned him that this was going to happen. Not just at the birthday party either, but a few times over the summer, too. Will had just brushed it off, entirely sure his friend was overthinking things. That is, until he saw Layla’s face at her party. He believed Warren then, but when she started acting like she used to, he thought that maybe both of them had been mistaken.

Nope. She’d broken up with him just like that, like it was easy. There were no tears, no arguing. It just sort of happened.

Will spent the weekend thinking that she’d be back. She’d change her mind and call him and they’d get back together, walking through the halls of Sky High as the same couple who had saved the school less than a year ago. But there were no calls, and he was starting to think she was serious.

He held his breath Monday morning as he waited on their corner for the bus to school. He clutched his backpack strap so hard he could hear the fibers tearing. Licking his lips, he glanced over when he heard light footfalls behind him. She stood beside him, three feet of space feeling like an entire continent between them.

“Hey,” he said finally, unable to keep quiet anymore. They’d been friends practically their whole lives. She was the one who said they should try to be friends. He glanced over at her. She was holding herself in a way that he knew meant she was actually _trying_. Shoulders back, chin up. Her hair was braided and her outfit was jeans and a layered green top that he distinctly remembered lifting from her skin multiple times. He cleared his throat as the bus pulled up.

“Hi,” she said finally, walking onto the bus before him. She immediately plopped down next to Magenta, who practically shoved Zach into another seat near the back of the bus.

Will tried not to let his eyes linger on his (ex?)girlfriend and sat next to Zach. He put his backpack at his feet and sat back as the bus twisted and turned toward the unfinished bridge that was used as their runway.

“So hey,” Zach said, leaning close to Will and putting his arm across the back of the seat, “I heard Magenta talking—“

“Did she tell you Layla broke up with me?” Will blurted out.

Zach glanced at the tips of his girlfriend’s hair that he could see over the seat. Will was trying his hardest not to look at the auburn head next to Magenta’s.

“Maybe,” Zach said, deflating. He settled back in the seat as the bus driver—not Ron Wilson today, he was often called off by the Mayor but he drove them in half the time still—hollered for them to ready themselves. Over the shoulder straps popped out of the seats and everyone locked them into place just before the ground dropped out from under them. Will’s stomach no longer lurched with every takeoff, having adjusted itself due to his own ability to fly.

“Well, she broke up with me after her party. It’s…whatever,” Will said. He was keeping it to himself that he was waiting for Layla to change her mind.

"Wanna talk about it?" Zach asked once the bus went from a few freshmen screams to normal bus chatter.

"No," Will answered sharply and quickly.

"'Kay," Zach said sitting back and staring out the window. They were amidst the clouds, cloaked by technology derived by some scientist somewhere, so villains couldn't follow them to the gravity-defying school, and humans couldn't see them.

They got to Sky High quicker than usual. The school was on a large circular anti-gravity device, and was relatively small for a high school. People were already milling about, brought by other buses. Will's bus wasn't always the last on campus, but it always tended to be one of the latest arrivals.

Will stepped off the bus after the freshmen, who gathered with the other new kids, looking shocked and lost and excited. Will remembered feeling excited and doomed all at once when he started. He hadn't had his powers, and he was totally out of place. 

This year, he realized, he was staring just like freshman year: single and with a heavy feeling weighing on him. Zach clapped a hand on his shoulder, still taller than Will by a few inches.

"And we're back," he said with his usual excitement. Zach was pretty much stoked about everything in life. Will couldn't actually remember a time when Zach had been sad or bothered by anything. They lived close and went to the same preschool, so they'd known each other for long enough that Will was beginning to think Zach was just wired to be optimistic.

"Oh hooray," Magenta said sarcastically, glaring across the front lawn of the school.

"It's not so bad," Layla said, appearing next to the shapeshifter. Will couldn't quite see her in his peripherals. "At least they got rid of the really rigid curriculum."

The only reason Will knew about or cared about the new curriculum was because Layla was the one who explained it to him when they were picking electives. After winter break, the school came out with an announcement: Power Placement would still be a process, with Hero and Hero Support, but powers were to be based on a sliding scale of offensive ability. Also, each student would be offered one of each Hero and Hero Support classes per period so they could mix more regularly and learn more rounded skills.

Will tried to choose a good mixture, but his mom and Layla picked most of them for him and he now had to face the music. At least he had a free period after the class following lunch, meaning he would have a long break mid-day to fly around and blow off steam.

He was wondering how many classes he'd end up having with Layla when Cecil called to all of them and waved a hand. She was holding Warren's hand with the other. Will never really tried to get why Warren went for Cecil—literally polar opposites, but what did all the famous people say: opposites attract?—but he could get it. She was hot; physically speaking. 

A little guilty thought flashed through his head about it, but it wasn't like he could just turn off his eyes. He glanced over at Layla as the big group met in the middle of the green, by the water fountain. There was no Lash and Speed to torment the freshmen, who were being greeted and toted off by a senior who presumably was not a reborn supervillain.

"It's already so much better starting off the year knowing you-know-who won't be around," Cecil said.

Will knew what she meant. Even though Royal Pain and her cronies were only around for two months of freshmen year, the thought of them weighed over the school for the rest of the school year. After a refreshing summer, it was nice coming back, knowing they weren't going to be dealing with the bad guys. Will was sure someone else would take their place, but hopefully they'd just be normal high school bullies and not actual wannabe supervillains.

"I hope Coach Boomer sticks to the new Power Placement criteria," Layla said, always thinking about others, always preaching pacifist ideals over violent ones.

Warren shoved his elbow into Will's side, which didn't hurt, but it startled him. "What?" Will snapped.

Snapped. He _snapped_  at Warren Peace. A year ago, he would have been literal toast.

"What's your problem?" Warren asked, staring at him like he had three heads.

As good of a friend as Warren was, he wasn't the kind you called or texted when anything important happened in your life. He was an in-person type, and even then he was so prickly that Will usually left his more emotional problems for Zach and even Ethan.

"Layla," Will said, glancing over at his (ex?)girlfriend. She was too busy talking to Cecil—turning down Cecil's offer to get her into cheerleading tryouts by the sounds of it—to notice he was talking about her.

Warren glanced at Layla, then at Will, instantly knowing what happened. He was eerily good that doing that. "You broke up," he said.

Will let out a whoosh of a breath. "Yep."

"And?"

"She said we should just try being friends," Will embellished.

Warren was silent for a moment. "Huh."

"What's that mean? Did she say anything to you?"

"Me? No."

"Then what?"

Warren looked to the top of the stairs, where Layla and Cecil were walking. Will was walking slowly, so they were still just on the first few.

"Good luck with that," was all he said before he jogged dramatically up the steps, leaving Will in his dust.

Will had homeroom first with the rest of the now sophomore class. There were few enough superpowered kids in the US that warranted slightly larger than normal homerooms that included the entire year. He was pretty popular, as were most of his friends who helped save the school. With Gwen and the others gone, the super cliché popular group sort of fizzled away, leaving everyone pretty free to associate with whoever they wanted. Homeroom was a mixture of Heroes, like himself, and Hero Support, like most of his friends, and one tired looking teacher, Mrs. Stella. Apparently she became super strong under the light of the moon, with the hero mantle of Luna.

Right now, in the morning sun, she looked like a shriveled up shrimp. Eventually she got loud enough to check attendance, help everyone with their new schedules, and talk about upcoming events.

Will tuned most of it out. He sat in the middle of the class, and Layla was up front, teasing him with all of her flowery smells whenever she moved around. He sighed and almost fell asleep before the bell rang.

It was going to be a long day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He didn't have any other classes with Layla before lunch. It was probably a good thing: it helped him to not burn his hand off in the Mad Science Lab with Dr. Medulla or make himself sound like an idiot in American (Super) History. He flopped down at a table, and soon it was crowded with the rest of his friends, except for Warren and Cecil. The school was only big enough for two years to eat at once, so they were separated into freshmen/sophomore and junior/senior. He only learned this when he asked around the table where Warren was.

He really needed to start paying attention when people talked to and around him.

Layla and Magenta sat at the far end of the table, talking rapidly about a class they must have together. So far, Will had the Mad Science Lab with Ethan, and American (Super) History with Zach and Larry, but none of them were as excited to talk about the first day of class as the girls.

Well, maybe Ethan, but Will ignored him long enough so he quieted and started asking Zach about some TV show they both watch. Will dove into his food and tried not to look too obvious as he got up and followed Layla to the compost and trash bins.

"Hey," he said, putting bits of trash in their appropriate bins. "How're you?"

"Hi Will. I'm fine," Layla said, though her voice sounded a bit too shrill for her to be totally fine.

"Cool," he said, rather than asking. He took that uncertainty as a sign that she was second guessing herself. He didn't like to think of her as having to do that, but if it meant they got back together, he'd accept it. "Enjoying your classes?"

"Yeah. You?" She turned and faced him, all doe brown eyes and tiny freckles over her nose.

"Pretty good," Will nodded dumbly.

She gave him a small smile and rejoined the table.

Will scratched his neck and looked over at his group across the heads of all the cowering freshmen—half of them were still waiting to be placed in a power group—and the rest of his graduating year. There were a lot of people, but probably not enough for him to have to worry about someone swooping in to nab Layla if news got out of their breakup. No one had come up to Will yet, and he was basically the most popular guy in school right now.

With a shrug, he headed back to his table, just in time to have to grab his backpack and head to Hero Support 102, with Mr. Boy. He had a light hop in his step, fueled by the certainty that Layla was going to change her mind. What good was high school if you didn't have someone to walk through it with you, holding your hand and occasionally making out with in the locker rooms?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first few days of school went pretty smoothly. Will had three classes with Layla—Homeroom, Hero Support 102 and Gym—and so far none of the seniors tried to ask him out just to steal something from the Secret Sanctum. It was nearing the end of Thursday and Will was lounging around the library during his free period. To his surprise, Layla walked in with a note, heading to the school librarian, Mr. Limon. Will hurried up to her and said hello.

"Oh, hi Will," she said, turning back to Mr. Limon, who was typing away on a computer.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Grabbing a book for my biology class. Mr. Fields forgot to grab it before starting," she explained. 

Just then, Mr. Limon popped up with a printed slip, which he handed to Layla. She thanked him and started toward the proper section in the library. Will trailed next to her.

"I didn't think they let kids out of class unless they were about to pee all over the floor," Will said, keeping his voice hushed. They were in a library after all.

Layla sighed. "Yes, well, some of us show restraint and don't play hooky just to hide in the gym until class is over."

Will wasn’t a straight A student and he never missed classes, so he knew she wasn't taking a swing at him, but for some reason it still felt like a direct hit. It wasn't as if people could play hooky at Sky High and go to the mall; unless they could fly, but even then it was dangerous. "I guess," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

She paused at an aisle and he bumped into her, catching himself before he accidentally fell and leveled all of the bookshelves. He caught her rolling her eyes a little at his clumsiness and that spark of hope he had about her changing her mind came rushing to the surface. He watched her carefully scan the numbers on the spines of the books, bypassing most of them and squatting down to read the bottom most shelf.

"I heard Trent is having a party this weekend," Will mentioned casually. Trent Wheeler was in their year, a Hero who could morph into any other person, both in looks and voice. 

"Oh?" Layla said offhandedly, spotting the book she needed and yanking it off the shelf. She stood, cradling it in her arms.

"Yeah. You wanna go?" It came out so easily; he figured there would be no way she could refuse. 

She balked. "What?" Before he could even reply, she was diving into her quick, breathless, angry speech, "Will I told you, friends only."

"I know but—“

" _No!_ " The word came out louder than either of them expected. "I'm not going to go out with you again, Will. We broke up, remember?"

Clutching the book to her chest, she slipped by him and ignored the numerous students who overheard their tiny argument. Will laid eyes on all of them. They weren't scared of him—he didn't want to become the new bully in school—but they quickly returned to their books and cell phones, playing at being busy.

Will quickly grabbed his bag from the table he'd been sitting at and shuffled out of the library.

So that was it. They were _really_  broken up. Was it because of him? Probably. Layla hadn't specified, but it was probably him. She was perfect, he couldn't see her doing anything wrong.

He made his way to the front of the school, perching on the top of the stairs for the few remaining minutes of his free period. There were others milling about as well, enjoying the last remnants of the super hot summer heat. 

Not sure exactly what to feel, he rose mechanically at the sound of the bell and headed toward his second to last class.

By the time the bus dropped him and Layla off, he was decidedly ignoring her, the realization of their relationship's end settling on him almost as heavily as when he messed up with Gwen and Layla barely a year earlier. He went directly up to his room once he was home, dumping his bag on the floor and flopping down on the bed. It creaked under his forced weight, but didn't break. It wouldn't have been the first time they had to replace his bedframe. He really should just have his mattress on the floor instead.

He stayed there, zoning out, wondering how he got from Will Stronghold, with two powers and an amazing girlfriend, to Will Stronghold, with two powers and no girlfriend and a strained relationship with his best friend. Heaving a sigh, he got up only when he heard his parents come in from their day job as realtors.

His mother called up the stairs and he obliged her by coming down. She was pouring juice, talking animatedly to his dad about the house they'd just showed and the possible offers. Last year, they'd left Will for a week to go on a trip to Hawaii that they won through their realtor jobs. It wasn't like they hadn't been to Hawaii before—they'd beaten an angry lava monster there once when Will was a baby—but the pretense of it all made it exciting for them. Will hadn't thrown any parties or invited Layla over, which were their only two rules. He'd been good, because he always wanted to be good and do good, it's just that sometimes he ended up putting his foot in his mouth and doing the opposite of what he should.

"And how was your day, Will?" Josie asked, putting a glass in his hand.

Will sipped it. "Layla and I broke up." He hadn't told them before, so sure that they'd get back together that he didn't bother worrying his parents about it.

His parents exchanged a look. "Do you uh...want to talk about it, son?" Steve asked from his side of the island.

Will sighed. "Not really."

Josie squeezed Will in a one-armed hug. "If you do, you know where to find us."

Will nodded. He finished his juice. He'd been subconsciously preparing for this moment all week. It was an inevitability that he wouldn't allow himself to see until Layla was yelling at him in a library.

Not sure what else to do, he rinsed his glass and went into the living room to distract himself with his Xbox until he could focus enough on homework to attempt to tackle it on his own. Maybe he'd go to Zach's house and they'd invite Ethan over. But he had to shake off the off-balance feeling he had because he'd lost Layla before he interacted with anyone else. Had it really lost her? Was it a running theme he was going to have to snap himself out of if he wanted to salvage a friendship he never thought would be possible to lose? He wasn’t sure entirely, but he knew he’d have to face the fire and get used to the fact that they were broken up.

Easier said than done.


	3. Warren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am Warren biased, so this was such a guilty pleasure write...if that is such a thing haha. I really loved writing this and I'm getting into the groove of writing multiple characters and helping the plot along at the same time. I hope you all enjoy this!

Chapter 3: WARREN

 

Friday crept by. It was the first Friday of the school year, and it dragged on and on. Or at least, it did for Warren. The weekend loomed ahead of him, and he wasn't looking forward to getting back into his school year routine. He worked a lot over the summer, sure, but he didn't have to juggle homework along with it. His entire life was crammed into corners, taking up any available moments for homework, for sleep, for occasionally seeing his girlfriend.

There was talk of parties already, one of which Will invited him too offhandedly, before Warren reminded him that he didn't _do_  parties. No matter that he helped save the school and defeat Royal Pain, he was still the son of a villain, and that meant people automatically thought things about him before they even knew him. He didn't like the stares or leers or pokes and prods from kids whose parents did everything for them. Will was only mildly annoying, mostly he was just oblivious and dumb and for the most part, Warren decided he would end up doing something ridiculously stupid unless he was there to watch out for the kid.

So Warren told Will it would probably be better for him to go to the party so he didn't mope around the whole weekend, and Warren set off toward his bus. He sat next to Cecil in the back, her white skirt and light blue top clashing with his dark ensemble. It was easier for him to wear simple clothes so he didn't have to bring a change of clothes for work.

Cecil didn't bother asking him about any parties. She knew he wouldn't go, because he didn't want to, and because she was one of the only people (okay the only person) who knew what his life was like outside of work. He kept Will and Layla and the other nerds at a comfortable distance, so they wouldn't go nosing around in his business. With Cecil, at least he didn't have to hide as much.

That wouldn't stop him from asking _her_  if she had weekend plans. "Parties?" he asked as she crossed her legs and the bus took off into the sky.

She shrugged. "Working on some choreography and Mom wants me to take Hannah shopping for some new pants. She's growing like, crazy fast." Hannah was Cecil's little sister, twelve, blonde, not yet exhibiting powers but it was probable that she would. Warren had only met her once, and she didn't like him. He was pretty neutral about the twerp.

"Sounds delightful."

She leaned close to him. "I'll come visit you for lunch tomorrow. Will that make you less grumpy?"

"Who says I'm grumpy?"

"I do." 

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced over at her. She was all perfectly curled blonde hair, big eyes, and pink lips like she'd walked right out a Sears catalog. It was a good thing that Warren didn't judge a book by its cover, otherwise he would have checked her off along with every other preppy looking chick at their school. If he had then this pretty okay relationship between them wouldn't have become a thing. He had a feeling Cecil started dating him just to piss off her family, but actually ended up liking him and here they were. It helped that he was always busy so he didn't have the time to get the two of them in trouble. He had only met her parents once; it had been awkward and tense and he was glad it was the only time he'd met them. 

"Fine. Maybe tonight, too?" he added with a slight smirk.

She drummed her nails against his chest in a steady rhythm. "Greedy," she snickered.

Warren spread his hands out in front of him. "What can I say?"

The bus started its downward dive, and it was too loud to speak, being pushed back in their seats and trying to catch their breaths. Finally the bus came down on solid ground and started dumping people off. A few here, one there, on and on. Warren got off halfway, pausing only to kiss Cecil, before hopping off. He watched the yellow monstrosity take off down the round before he hitched up his bag and headed away from his house and toward The Paper Lantern.

Warren entered through the front; passing by the few customers seated around the restaurant and pushed past the double swinging doors into the kitchen. He walked to the back where there was a cramped closet the staff used for their belongings and shoved his jacket in his bag, then squeezed the bag into an empty corner. He pulled back his hair and tied it tightly before tying an apron around his middle and joining the rest of the employees. The dinner rush would start soon, since it was Friday, and he'd probably be doing more than just bussing tables. He was used to it. He got paid as a busboy but he could run circles around most of the waiters. He didn't complain though, they let him work as much as he could around school, and he needed the money.

He watched as families came in and stumbled across the Romanized words on the page. He saw kids trying to use chopsticks. He saw a table of teens each order one small thing and then share around the table. The last sight made him actually miss his distanced friend group. They sometimes came here and did the same thing at the end of a shift and Warren would join them and eat before cleaning up the place.

The evening swirled by until nine hit and it simmered down. They stayed open until eleven, but maybe all of the kids' parties and that end-of-summer fest that were happening around now were keeping them all away. Warren started clearing and washing tables in the back when the bell rang over the door. He glanced over his shoulder automatically; a reflex, and his eyes fell on the red haired, green-dress-wearing girl who he may actually consider a friend.

She spotted him too and gave him a small smile before she was seated at a booth. Warren finished up the tables and moved aside as a small family was seated by the kitchen door. He dipped back into the kitchen, checked that he had a fifteen minute break left that he hadn't taken yet and decided now was as good a time as ever. Keeping his apron on, he walked out into the restaurant and slid into the booth opposite Layla.

"Hey, Hippie," he said, his normal greeting.

"Hi, Warren," Layla replied. She looked happy enough, but Warren was pretty good at reading her--and other people too, but he at least was better at reading Layla than Will was. Something was bugging her.

"So you just happened to be craving some Chinese noodles and veggies," he prodded.

She brushed some hair over her shoulder. She was wearing the bracelet and necklace he remembered she got for her birthday. Will's earrings weren't in her ears though. Warren wasn't surprised.

"Oh, of course," she said, playing along. She folded her arms against the table and leaned forward. "And I just had to come visit the resident guru for some advice."

Warren arched an eyebrow.

"I broke up with Will," she said finally, as if she'd been waiting to say that for years.

Warren chuckled. "Yeah. The whole school knows thanks to your little blow up in the library."

"I didn't...blow up," Layla said, scrunching up her nose in distaste. "I just...firmly stated a fact."

"If it helps, Will told me before that." He didn't know if it would help or if she even cared enough to let it bother her in the first place.

She let out a small huff of air. "Of course he did."

"I am his friend. Still don't know how that happened." He sat back and stretched his arms out to either side of him and rolled his neck before letting his arms fall back down. "Do you need any advice?" He grabbed a fortune cookie out of his apron--he always grabbed the broken ones and horded them like a squirrel--and placed it on the table.

Layla laughed, a snorty little sound that made him grin. "I just...I broke up with Will. _Will_ , who I've liked since first grade. Will Stronghold, the most popular guy in school."

"Which makes you quite the badass," Warren interjected.

"And yet I don't feel...bad. I feel like I should feel sad or mad or upset but I'm just...I'm completely okay. A little aggravated at Will trying to ask me out, but otherwise...I'm peachy." She frowned, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows. "Is that terrible?"

Warren thought about it and nodded. “You want me to be honest?” He made it obvious as he grabbed a fortune cookie out of his apron.

Layla saw and waved a hand. “Go on,” she said.

Warren broke open the cookie and pulled out the slip of paper. Cecil sometimes found his stores of them when she came over. She’d rip them open and give him the cookie part to eat as she read the fortunes aloud, adding “in bed” at the end of all of them and laughing hysterically. Most of them weren’t even funny.

“’Change can hurt, but it leads to a path of something better’,” he read. Arching an eyebrow, he glanced across the table at Layla.

“That only makes half-sense,” she frowned. “I thought these cookies were supposed to be psychic.” 

“Only on a good day.” He pocketed the slip of paper. “Look, Will’s an okay guy, maybe you just built him up too much with your crush that the real deal wasn’t exactly what you hoped for.”

“Deep,” she said, both serious and funny at the same time.

Warren glanced at the clock over the kitchen entrance. “People grow out of people,” he added.

“I know. I just…I feel like I should feel something more than just perfectly okay with it, y’know?” She sighed and sagged back into the seat.

“Just accept it. Better to feel okay than cry about it for two months. I wouldn’t be able to handle that and you’d water down your sesame soy sauce,” he said with a sly grin.

It got her to laugh, just as her plate was brought out by Li Wei, who looked almost distastefully at Layla and spoke to Warren without looking at him, “Work isn’t a place to socialize.”

“I’m on my break,” Warren said back smugly in Cantonese. He watched his coworker walk off to the other table before turning to Layla.

“So it’s okay to feel okay,” Layla said, more to herself than to him. She mixed up the noodles and vegetables on her plate.

“Yep,” he replied, though there was no need to. “Will may not be so chill, but he’ll bounce back. Anyone’d be stupid not to have you in their lives.” 

“Why, Mr. Peace, was that an actual compliment? I’m shocked.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he told her, pushing himself up. He still had a few minutes left, he’d run to the bathroom, check his phone to see if his mom called, and then work until his feet dragged. “See ya at school.”

Layla looked up at him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was sad to see him go. Maybe she was just lonely. He half wanted to suggest she call the purple girl or someone else but she could handle herself. “See ya.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was his first weekend back and Ms. Chang sent him home early. He actually stepped through the doorway at eleven-thirty rather than midnight. He went directly to his bedroom, not needing the lights on to know where he was going. He flipped the switch in his room and dumped his bag down before making his way to the kitchen. A note on the counter was written in his mom’s rushed hand: _Double shift. See you soon. XoXo_

He figured. She usually worked doubles on the weekends, especially if there’d been a monster attack. There had been on Wednesday; some lizard-thing that got too close to the city and Goliath—Ron Wilson, Bus Driver—had to be called in to stop it.

The house to himself, he grabbed his phone and texted Cecil ( _Mom’s out. Come over_ ) before hopping in the shower. He rarely used his phone since he paid for it by minute and text out of pocket. He left it in his room before walking under the scalding stream. Even full blast, hot water didn’t feel exceptionally warm to him, but he was used to it. He scrubbed his scalp and washed away the scent of fried chicken and salty sauces off of his skin. He blinked away tiredness in the water and stepped out, drying his hair with vigorous toweling off and wrapping the towel around his waist when he was done. He brushed his teeth, scratched at the dark shadow appearing along his jaw that he was too wiped out to bother shaving, and returned to his room.

He pulled on shorts and plopped down in the large cushioned moon chair haphazardly kept together by duct tape. His book bag stared at him from the corner. He had the whole morning to do homework, since he went into work at 11. Every Saturday and Sunday it was: up early on a few hours sleep, homework and breakfast, then work twelve hours, 11 to 11. It wasn’t glamorous, but he’d been doing it for two years and counting. His mom was a nurse, but her money got sucked up by the state, even though they lived in an apartment and not a house. He had to pay for the things he needed himself, and help out when he could. Not to mention he needed college money.

The drone of his own thoughts made him doze off for a moment. He startled awake when he heard the door open, close and lock. Cecil. She cursed when she stubbed her toe on something, probably the couch, and then followed the dim light to his room. He felt like quite the blob lying there, and she looked pretty perfect. Her hair was a bit messy, she was wearing tight cotton pants (yoga pants or something) and a t-shirt. It was surprising how different their lives were considering they lived within a fifteen-minute bike ride of each other.

“Peace and quiet,” she said with a little smile at her pun. She collapsed gracefully into the chair next to him, on top of him, bones digging into muscles and he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her and she squeezed at his sides with her hands. “Layla and Will broke up.” 

His quiet, and peace for that matter, was cracked. He slowly opened his eyes. “Yeah. The whole world knows.”

“Should I talk to her? Layla I mean.”

“She’s fine,” Warren replied, thinking back a few hours to The Paper Lantern.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. She already talked to me about it, she’s very cool with it. Will just needs to catch up with the program.”

“Ah.” She snuggled closer. “What’re we gonna do?”

There was a strand of wrapped condoms hanging out of his nightstand drawer and a bed a foot away but he didn’t have the energy. “TV?” he suggested.

It took some wriggling and preparation to get them both standing. That chair was dangerous and had caused more injuries than his pride would let him admit. They shuffled into the living room Warren turning on one of the dimmer lamps. Cecil clicked on the TV and searched through. It was late, but there was always a movie of some sort playing at this hour. She stopped at one and turned the volume up so they could hear but didn’t get overwhelmed.

They settled together on the couch and the next thing Warren knew, he was waking up at the sky outside began to glow, Cecil squished next to him on the couch. He sat up and she roused herself, blinking up at him sleepily.

“What time is it?”

He squinted at the digital clock on the DVD player. “5:34.”

“Shit,” she mumbled into the cushion before sitting. Her face was patchy red, her hair was a rat’s nest and there was a line from a crease across her face.

This wasn’t the first time this happened. They almost always ended up falling asleep and Cecil would have to sneak back in in the morning.

“Your dad won’t be up yet,” he told her, as if she didn’t know.

She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. “Yeah,” she grumbled. “I don’t wanna bike. I’m _tired_.”

“I would offer a ride but…” Still no license. He was turning seventeen in a few months but neither he nor his mom had the time to get him a permit.

“It’s okay.” She sat next to him, digging her toes into the carpet next to his. 

“I’d walk you to the bus if they ran this early,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

Cecil linked her fingers and stretched her arms above her head and stretched her back, tilting one way and then another. “Your attempts at chivalry never fail to turn me on,” she said, a smirk to her voice even if he couldn’t see her face.

She turned and smiled down at him, her eyes missing their sharpness this early in the day. He didn’t want her to go, but he didn’t feel like getting on the wrong side of her father, who had the power to control the temperature of anything he touched. It didn’t sound scary until he put a hand on your skin and made your flesh boil, or gave someone frostbite. Cecil said he’d never done such a thing, but it was a scientific fact that that was what would happen.

She leaned down and cupped his face, kissing him hard, stirring him awake. She quickly slid down to the couch, her knees digging into the cushions at his sides, his hands running over her thin shirt. She wrapped her fingers through his slightly wavy hair and leaned into him.

“I should go,” she breathed out, trying to push herself back but he held her close and kissed down her neck.

“Mhhm,” he mumbled against her skin.

Frustratingly she pushed him away by the shoulders and caught her breath. “I have to go,” she said finality.

He sighed, forcing his half-lidded eyes open and removing his hands from her hips. “Dad, torture, et cetera,” he said.

She nodded, swooping in for one final small kiss before she shimmied off of him and moved toward the door to pull on her sandals. She redid her hair, gathering it all and tying it tightly against her scalp and then turned to him, still sitting on the couch. “See you later.” Statement not question.

He nodded once and she was gone, dipping out of the room and heading down the stairs to her bike. He stayed put for a while, moving only to grab the remote and actually turn off the cable box that had fallen asleep along with them.

Ten minutes passed before he stood, stretched and yawned, padding his way back to his bedroom. His mom would be getting home a little after he left; he probably wouldn’t see her until Sunday morning or even next week. Running his hand through his hair, his fingers snagged on a few knots. That’s what he got for not brushing it before crashing.

Not giving a shit since it’d be back for work anyway, he fell onto his bed in his room, a mattress that had seen better days, and snoozed until seven. He woke up to his alarm, blaring out a commercial rather than a radio channel. Even more in a haze than earlier, he stumbled into the bathroom, then into the kitchen and nearly set his hand on fire on the stove. Not that it would have hurt him, but it would have been bad if he then set the apartment on ablaze.

Once he had coffee going and he chugged down two ice cold glasses of water just to cool down, he dragged his backpack to the kitchen table and laid out his books. It was the first week and there wasn’t much to get done, but he may as well try to get it all done today so maybe, just maybe he could have half a life the next morning.

He lost himself in a pot of coffee and a carton of yogurt (and an apple and a fruit bar because half of his diet was fake-filling American Chinese food) and 9AM rolled around with a knock on his door. He looked up from the chapter he was finishing up and blinked wildly into the room like a startled owl. There was another knock and he quickly moved to the door. He was barely dressed but opened it anyway.

One of his neighbors, Mrs. Rodriguez was there, holding out an envelope. “Got put into my box,” she said, her words kind, her eyes soft.

He took it and glanced at the title. The return address was from the Kaneville Detention Center. He swallowed a lump in this throat and forced a smile. “Thanks,” he said before shutting the door. Mrs. Rodriguez may know that his father was in prison, but she didn’t know the extent, that he was in the Maximum Security Power Ward because of his actions. She didn’t know he could set fire to an entire building with just a thought.

Barron wrote to his son often and Warren replied. His relationship with his father was always going to be complicated. On one hand, Barron was his dad; on the other, Barron was a supervillain. It was a hard burden to carry, and Warren let it rule him for years before he finally brushed the chip off his shoulder when he met, beat up and eventually befriended the son of the Commander.

Warren shook his head. Life was complicated and sometimes it was better to not think about it too hard. He went back to his seat, finished off the coffee, warming it in his hand, careful not to crack the ceramic, and finished the chapter he had to read for Superior Biology class. It was a thin textbook but the content was heavy and needed memorization; lists of categories of powers, power level indexes, the science and biology behind it, and whole sections about accidental power acquiring. It was a junior year class that was unfortunately mandatory for Heroes and Support alike.

Once finished, he decided to take a few minutes to read the letter before writing out the first few pages of an essay, the only other homework he had left. He ripped the edge of the envelope and pulled out the letter. The paper was thin and flimsy, lined and perforated edges like the kind you got from a simple notebook. His dad’s blocky print stood out against the page.

 _Son,_ _  
__I hope this gets to you before you start school. Junior year. That’s a big deal. Don’t know if you’ll follow in my footsteps and join a play, but you should._ (There were two lines of text blacked out that he couldn’t even see if he held it up to the light.) _How is your mom? I think about her and you all the time. Solitary is very lonely. They only let me out every two months for a few hours. Wish I could have visitors. It’d be nice to see a friendly face._ (Like all of his letters, they started getting fast and aggravated halfway through, as if the realization of his isolation settled on him as he wrote, a wall separating himself from the rest of the world.) _I don’t know if your mom would let you but if I get a visitor’s day in two years, you should see me. I want to see you. Edith doesn’t send photos. I want to see her too, but I know she won’t see me. She doesn’t hate me and doesn’t love me, I don’t know what to think. Write me, if you can. I get phone calls sometimes if you send me a number. Running out of paper. I love you, Warren, never forget that._

It ended there, no room for a signature, the last few letters squished and barely readable. Warren sighed, running the pad of his thumb over the straight, thin edge of the paper. It was always rough to get letters from his dad. They started off fine, and then they turned into a rambling mess, like he was a sweater whose thread was getting pulled, unraveling until it was just a mess of tangled yarn. They almost always said the same things. Warren sent back details about his life, the select few he hoped wouldn’t be blacked out by guards, every few months. He had no idea what his mom did except to send him money to buy things to keep him from losing his sanity too quickly. Warren wasn’t sure if it was even working.

Before he ended up crumpling the paper, he refolded it and placed it back into the envelope, covered in stamps and writing in many different hands. He slid it across the table and flipped open his own notebook. He had two and a half hours until he had to leave. The essay he had to do was short. Two to three pages of categorizing his own power with the few parameters on the two chapters assigned for the week. He grabbed a pen, but couldn’t think of where to start so after five minutes he stood, stretched, brought the letter back to his room and pulled on clothes. Boxers, jeans, shirt—just a single one since it was hot as balls out—and pulled his hair back to get him into the mindset of work: focused and productive. He made sure to put the letter on his moon seat so he could see it against the black fabric and be reminded to answer it, and shoved his wallet and keys into his pockets. It was uncomfortable to sit, but it kept him from falling asleep.

He also made another pot of coffee. Having to formulate basically an entire essay in his head before writing it took a lot of energy and for him on the weekends, energy meant caffeine. After half an hour, with a few penciled in notes in the textbook, he got all of the proper facts down and started writing, keeping his penmanship as neat as possible. His mom had drilled into him neat handwriting because hers was atrocious and it made people second-guess her authority and intelligence. Warren was that kid in grade school who had sheets of those example letters that he would rewrite over and over again in his free time.

He was barreling toward the end of the essay, without a lot of thought on the conclusion but he could fix it tomorrow, when it was about time to leave. Making sure the stove wasn’t still on and the windows and door was locked, he left to go down to the bus stop and head toward a feet-dragging twelve-hour shift. Ms. Chang didn’t let him work every day of the week. He worked Saturday and Sunday all day, and Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday after school. He would have gladly worked himself to the bone every day, but even he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up his grades if he did that. And no matter how many times his mom told him he didn’t have to work, he saw how tired she was and he knew how much her stress level would rise if he didn’t have income to offer on a short month.

The only good part about working on the weekends was the free food and the times when Cecil or one of his friends or acquaintances would show up. They never made him feel weird, waiting on them with a pitcher of water or clearing their table, and he had to thank them for that. At least mentally; he never actually thanked them.

He actually slept in on Sunday, made himself pancakes for breakfast and was shocked when his mom walked into the kitchen in PJs when he flipped over the last one. It felt like it had been ages since he’d seen her; he kind of froze before grinning and hugging her. She was small, a good foot shorter than him if not more, a slim build, her black hair curling around her face, lines around her eyes.

“Good morning, Mom,” he said, stepping back and quickly offering her the plate of pancakes he’d made for himself. “I didn’t even hear you come home.”

“I was dead asleep before you got home,” she replied, taking the plate and walking over to the table. He had already put out butter and syrup. “Is work going okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Warren said, mixing a bit more batter. “ _You_ should really take a vacation day. You’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

This was not the first time they’d had this conversation. “There are too many lives that need my help.” Her tone was bittersweet.

Warren pressed his lips together. He both could and couldn’t imagine what his mom’s life was like. She was a bright and thriving star in the Hero community and then as soon as she pled for Barron Battle’s life, the Heroes banished her. She wasn’t _allowed_ to use her power the way she did when she took on her mantle. She could be corporally punished if she used her power on a large scale while in her civilian alias. She was the genie stuffed into the bottle. And Warren? He was only ostracized from the community. He would win their favor if he tried, which he did. He thought that if he was good enough, he could make everyone else change their minds about his mom.

“One of these days we’ll both take time off and actually have a day together,” she continued around a mouth full of pancake. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

It would. Warren didn’t blame either of his parents for his life, but it forced him to mature faster than anyone he knew. Yes, his mom was around his whole life, but she was constantly away, busy, which meant he practically had to raise himself from the age of nine, when his father was locked up. It would be nice to be with his mom, to hear her thoughts and get to know her more than just an ever-loving presence and small talk conversation.

With pancakes nice and toasty brown, he joined her at the table. She was wearing a thin robe, hunched over in the seat. She looked so much younger than she was, and at the same time, the age was apparent on her tired face. “Good?” he asked before shoveling three pieces of pancake into his mouth.

“Very.” She reached over and squeezed his arm over the Hotwheels tattoos on his wrist. He was counting down the days until he could fix them. “How are you enjoying school? How’s Cecil? Your friends?”

“School is school. Classes are…interesting. Heroes and Support all mixed up,” he talked around bites. “Cecil’s good too. We’re just…y’know. We don’t have much time in general so at least that keeps us from fighting.” They wouldn’t have anything to fight about to begin with. They rarely argued, though he wondered if it was some sort of calm before the storm. “Everyone’s alright. Will and Layla broke up.” His mom knew the bits and pieces of his friends’ lives as he told them to her. He knew she wasn’t going to be angry with him for befriending the son of the man who put Barron in jail but he was still cautious about mentioning them to her at first. None of them had ever met. He wasn’t ashamed of his mom, he was proud of her, but his apartment was shabby compared to their perfect two story, middle-class homes.

“Oh that’s too bad,” his mom replied, sitting back in the seat and straightening her shoulders.

Warren shrugged. “Kind of inevitable.”

“You’re not feeling matchmaker’s guilt are you?” she teased.

He rolled his eyes, finishing off his plate. “No. I do have an essay to finish before I head into work,” he mentioned, standing to clear the table almost before he’d finished swallowing.

“I’ll do the dishes, you do that.”

He protested but eventually it was just the two of them: him at the table rereading what he’d wrote and rewriting it painstakingly slowly because he didn’t have the time to go the library to use their computer and printer. His mom started humming a song from her childhood, one he knew because she sang it to him when he was little. It was nice and comfortable and helped him concentrate.

It had been a week or two since they’d had more than a passing conversation, and he could really get used to this. It was unrealistic, but he held onto this moment, etching it into his memory for future moments when he needed something to remember his mom by.


End file.
